literature

More Than (Love)

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Literature Text


Confessions, high in the dark, mascara
and the scissors in the drawer
are still sharp even though they've been used
for something other than paper. Skin like paper. Secrets.

Apologize to yourself, you say, because
you love me more than
I can
and there are infinite tomorrows to you; goodbye
is my choice alone and you'll
stay. Apologize to yourself, you say, because

I know how to feel bad to you. I know how to feel bad to
everyone but me. I know how to heal on the outside,
to wait until the scabs become tiny canyons
into which new skin slides and rises like a tide, onto which
you can press your fingers so that all I'll feel
is the texture of your prints. I love you, you say, because

you love me more than
I can
and there are infinite tomorrows with you; goodbye
is my choice but I won't make it because
I love you, I say, because
I love you more than
I knew.
Musings.
© 2013 - 2024 fizzleout
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